No Mud, No Lotus, A Hunger Games SYOT - OPEN
by xPE A KEx
Summary: A hard-fought rebellion defied history for fifty years, but old habits are hard to break, especially in the Capitol. Fifty years after the rebellion's end, the Games raise their ugly head, ready for twenty-four more souls. Horrifying, hilarious, and humble in its approach, the return of the Games is something you won't want to miss; however much your tributes wish they could. OPEN!


A short Author's Note here;

Hey reader! I've returned to FF after three whole years so I'm a little rusty but absolutely excited to take on writing again. I'm a big fan of sticking to a weekly/bi-weekly schedule for new chapters or updates so know that if you follow and favorite this story, you can expect timeliness and commitment on my end. Let's get to it!

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 **Maat Koph – President of Panem POV**

This is the morning that will steer the course of history. Panem's citizens will once again unite through fracture, and I will be their ruler; the hand by which to guide them. They will be upset of course – after their heads stop spinning – but fear will win out in the end. At least, Veronica tells me it will. She's usually quite dead-on about these things, blurring the lines between 'political analyst' and 'personal psychic' in a way that feels as eerie as it does reassuring.

Regardless, if she could actually see the future, I'd decline to have her tell me about it. It's not every day a revolution rips through the tides of a country, and I for one relish the idea of experiencing it live – and I don't have long to wait.

I've watched every Hunger Games (studied, really), but the first is still my favorite.

The inaugural Bloodbath is playing on projection in the next room; I woke up early and decided to pop it in, hoping to burn through time, but I don't even need to set eyes onto the action. It's never gotten old. I have seen it dozens of times, far before I began preparing its successor. My reprisal must capture the iconic nature of these first moments, but with yet another unsuspecting cast of children, I'm sure a few themes will resonate between my games and the initial one. How could they ever prepare?

Wide eyes, shaking hands. Time ticks down until the claxon shatters the silence and reverbs around the arena. Lush fields and a lake sit opposite to each other, a forest surrounding them both for miles. The claxon's echo continues throughout, disturbing birds but not much else. This would shock an unprepared viewer, one who wasn't aware which games they were watching. 'Where is the action?' 'Why is no one sprinting?' they'd ask. Their questions would fall on deaf ears as more experienced viewers wait for the suspense to reach its breaking point.

Not a single tribute leaves their plate, save one. The girl from District Nine is so startled by the sound that she jumped backwards off of her platform. Her blonde hair has flipped onto her young cheeks, and a few nearby laugh at the twelve year-old. Her thin lips show a smirk, embarrassed, as if she were in front of friends, not enemies; because in that moment she was.

None of them know what to do, as they've not had a previous Hunger Games to watch, something I find unfortunate – it _is_ the entertainment of a lifetime, after all. The Cornucopia seems trapped in a stasis where time somehow does not dare exist, and the tributes look into it with uncertainty. They are kittens looking into a box of toys, though not yet brave enough to investigate.

One from the District Seven pair – the boy – speaks up, "Let's just all get off together."

Murmurs of agreement spread like a sickness and suddenly everyone is creeping closer to the gaping maw of the Cornucopia. The girl from District Two, also twelve, helps the girl from Nine get up off the ground and they link arms to walk towards the brightly-colored weapons, looking like two schoolgirls skipping towards a candy shop.

This next bit is my favorite; The oldest in the arena, the male from District One, reaches the bounty first, after what must seem to other viewers like an agonizing eon of watching tributes slowly approach the catalysts of death. Four minutes of mounting anxiety personified in every tribute except for himself.

He laughs, holding up a knife and grinning at the others, "I thought they'd blow us up the moment we touched something." A few of the youngest freeze, looking down for mines, hoping to force their eyes to gain x-ray vision. The boy from Seven points to where the youngest are looking, "Put it down, Daxton. None of this is funny."

Before Daxton can respond, a middle-aged girl - either fifteen or sixteen, I always forget - from Eight yells out, "I think I saw a bear!" The rest avert their eyes away from Daxton as he pockets the knife and picks up another before anyone can catch his swift con.

"Dawnella, I don't see a bear." the debatably-bossy but certainly-talkative male from Seven denotes after several seconds of carefully scanning the treeline.

"I _swear_ I saw it Willem!" Dawnella moans as she swiftly cuts towards bossy-pants and lays a hand across his chest, moving in for a hug as more tributes turn their backs to the Cornucopia out of interest in whatever Dawnella claims to have seen.

She shifts her weight until Willem's back is turned away from Daxton, who still hasn't moved away from the heaps of supplies and is chewing on some bread, confident District One behavior even before they had a historical reason to be. Dawnella rests her head on Willem's shoulder and extends a hand out behind his back in Daxton's direction, waving it just enough to get his attention but not enough to shake her body and create suspicion.

Daxton's eyebrows pull together in almost a puppet-like fashion, and he waves his hand back at Dawnella, who grants him a front-row-seat to a theatric rolling of her eyes. It is no later than she opens her empty hand out in the air that Daxton's duplicate knife lands into it. She winks at Daxton, feigns a sniffle to cover the sound of her long, Capitol-styled nails clicking on the metal as she grasps the blade, and plunges it into Willem's back. Bread crumbs spill out of Daxton's mouth slightly, amused at the unintentional teamwork he just took part in. You could tell he always thought himself a lone wolf.

Just as Willem arches his back and shouts loudly, Dawnella screams as well. To a viewer, you could tell she didn't time her mock-terror correctly, but none of the other tributes picked up on it, even Daxton. The other tributes spin around, their distraction and shock clouding their ability to make sense of the scene; Willem kneeling, coughing up blood, reaching a hand out to steady himself, Dawnella screaming and sprinting backwards into the arms of an older girl from District Three, and Daxton, looking at her in confusion, unaware that she's intending to pull the rug out from underneath him.

"He threw the dagger in Willem's back!" Dawnella croaks out hoarsely, over-the-top yet still believable in the moment. "We all saw him throwing daggers in training!" A few more sniffles "He _wants_ to kill us!"

Daxton begins to defend himself but Willem's coughing drowns him out, becoming more frequent until he falls out of balance onto his back, the knife thrusting through his body, trudging up veins and exposing muscle before spurting blood out onto the dirt, prompting shrieks from the younger tributes and sighs of disgust from the older ones.

No one moves for a few seconds. A cannon sounds, and Daxton reaches into his pocket while most of the others look to the sky in search of the source. He grasps the knife he saved and raises his arm to attack randomly, targeting anyone in the crowd Dawnella had manipulated against him. The knife is already sailing through the air before the girl from Nine could shout "He's got another one!"

It lodges itself in the heart of the boy from Three, who still hadn't looked down from the sky after the cannon. Another cannon fires, faster this time since this attack was more precise. Shouting and screaming erupts from the group, and a few fan out to the sides as Daxton sidesteps behind a crate and lifts up two more knives. Dawnella shuffles to the back of the group, already successfully sparking her second distraction in under a minute.

"Twenty versus one?" Daxton growled, clearly finding it easier to adjust to Dawnella's reality than defend his own, "Is that how you want it?"

Two more knives found their targets, not as directly as before, as a small group of mostly older tributes were moving in on the Cornucopia's gifts, all thinking themselves the hero who would stop this villain. The knives weren't so keen on their ideas.

 _Crumple. Boom. Gagging. Boom._

Daxton effortlessly dodged the first attack on his own life, a spear haphazardly-thrown by a younger boy from Twelve. He was not so lucky to avoid Daxton's retaliation, which came at him with a bit more skill.

 _Boom._

\- Make that a lot more skill.

Daxton breaks out into a bit of a laugh as he backtracks to another crate with another set of knives, sending another out that grazes the over head of the unfortunately short boy from Eleven – lucky him – and straight into the chest of the boy from Six – considerably less lucky him.

 _Boom._

"You know; this should've been my career." Daxton beams, unintentionally coining a phrase used for decades, before my door alarm overtakes the sounds of the Bloodbath.

I push off of the wall I had leaned into and walk towards the doorway as Daxton's massacre continues in the background.

I open the door slowly in needless caution, my security personnel would never allow for a breach, but this mixture of excitement and impatience has me on edge, worried my surprise might be spoiled through a leak or, less preferably, my untimely death at the hands of an assailant. Never hurts to worry, even with Head Gamemaker and long-term partner Brandley Tripp on his way over to calm my nerves.

My hand no sooner opens the door that Veronica opens her mouth, "Sir, you're going to need to brighten up a bit, we're practically planning the kick-off party of the century." She whisks past my body the moment she has enough room to fit through, almost knocking the air out of my lungs but apparently doing no damage to her shoulder. Veronica opens my refrigerator and, by the sounds of it, isn't pleased with how I organize my produce.

Slightly embarrassed for whatever reason, I begin to shut the door when a set of familiar 'click's approaching rapidly catches my attention from outside. Custom-made, privately-produced, titanium-alloy, five-inch high-heels. And that _pace,_ I swear she scurries like that on purpose.

Knowing by listening to the impending 'click's that I don't have enough time to ask Veronica _why_ she invited my ex-fling Santer over on the _most important day_ _of the year_ , I simply turn around and whine quietly in her direction, "Veeee- **uhh**." switching to a groan at the end to really drive home how dissatisfied I am.

"I knew you'd act like this, and it's why I didn't tell you. But she's the best." Veronica sings from behind the door to my refrigerator, her being so short she doesn't have the need to bend over to reach anything she reaches for.

 _Click-click-click-click-click-click_

Deciding my best approach is a defensive one, I back away from the door – not even bothering to shut it – and lean into a wall, positioning myself to appear interested in _anything other_ than Santer when she enters.

The clicking stops, and I hear a knocking on the door. My head pivots faster than Santer's footsteps towards Veronica and I shout-whisper " _She KNOWS it's open! She's just being obnox-"_

Veronica interrupts, closing the fridge and removing the stem from a strawberry in one quick motion. "Santer dear! Is that you? Come on in!"

Like one of Brandley's bombs detonating, Santer bursts into my kitchen and I feel myself directly in the blast radius.

"Veee!" Santer wails, dramatically resting both a large cake and a box of beauty products onto my kitchen island. She clicks herself over to hug Veronica – taking the long way and brushing up against my arm as she passes – and I stare off through the front door she so graciously left open, refusing to adjust from my wall-leaning position.

Santer begins to trail off of her attention-high and remember the only reason she's here. Turning – with as many _loud_ footsteps as physically possible in such a small movement – she plays up a shocked expression, "WELL, I have my work cut out for me don't I?" This encourages me to channel Dawnella's eyeroll in a similar show of _'Certainly pleased to see you again'_. Santer saunters towards my face, to a significant degree of closeness, and similarly moves to retrieve her makeup kit.

I begin to refuse any assistance getting ready but Veronica and Santer argue with me on every point and eventually I just give in. Veronica finishes another strawberry and answers a call, leaving the kitchen entirely and leaving me alone with.. Yeah.

Sitting in front of Santer while she plucks away my eyebrows doesn't particularly make me enjoy her being here much more. We progress various stages of my face in silence until thankfully Brandley pops in through the open door.

"You know this is a security risk right?" Brandley's eyebrows suddenly becoming more sensitive to gravity than the rest of his face as he continues questioning, "Where's Veronica? I just saw the camera crew coming up the stairs, do you want me to stall them? Do you need me to get you anything?" These questions and more go unanswered as I just smile at him.

Santer huffs and takes a step back from me and begins eyeing the recent addition to the room, "I think I've done about as much as I can on this one, but Brandy you could use a touch-up as well."

He disagrees but, ever the people-pleaser, allows her to begin work. A few moments later, Veronica comes back and gives Brandley a pat on the shoulder. She smiles as the camera team enters and directs them as to where they should set up. Santer multi-tasks between Brandley's face and conversing with the team with revolutionary insights like, _'That's good lighting over there'_ and _'Make sure you get the good angle'_. They humor her but ultimately remain silent.

Even with a certain loud, obnoxious guest here, I actually feel calm again. The moment is here and I can finally act on it rather than obsess. The camera team notifies me that they're almost ready and so Brandley and the girls shuffle behind the counter, out-of-frame. Santer just can't help herself but to lean over the counter and gush over-enthusiastically, "I haven't seen a Presidential Address LIVE since, well sinc-"

"I think we all know exactly how long it's been, thank you Santer." Brandley interjects with a level-headedness I couldn't achieve even with practice while putting an arm around her to cushion the blow of shooting down her commentary.

Veronica gives me a thumbs-up and there's just a single moment of clear direction encompassing my thoughts as I hear, "Dim the lights; start the broadcast."

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As you saw, this story will be set in an Alternative Universe where, after the Second Rebellion of Panem and fifty years of peace, the Hunger Games were re-instated. This story, while taking place relatively shortly after Katniss' era, should not feature any characters _or relatives_ of canon characters, so keep this in mind when PMing me. (This is in place to reduce tropes and push readers to dive into creativity and originality.) District Thirteen is no more, as shortly after the Second Rebellion, it didn't have a large enough population to sustain itself and citizens moved to Districts of their choosing during the peaceful time.

Poverty exists, but not as badly as it was when Katniss' story took place, the higher-numbered Districts are still poorer than the lower-numbered, but the peaceful period saw better wages for citizens of all Districts, so if you're submitting a character for a traditionally 'poorer' District, consider making them middle-class. (Again, this is in place to reduce tropes such as 'Rags to Riches' and force characters to have personalities other than 'poor tribute #4'.)

This will, however, be a team effort. You want me to write this story and I want you to submit original, interesting characters. So I have a little writing assignment for _you_ , (Talk about a plot twist!). My writing assignment comes in two parts;

Part One – Of course, submit a tribute! If you're early, there are twenty-four open slots just waiting to be filled! Tribute form is up on my profile! I don't mind recycled tributes as I'm new and haven't read many of the stories on here recently, but make sure they're original and diverse! I want characters I have to roll around in my head a bit to get a good plot planned out for.

Part Two – Tell a friend! I love getting feedback and especially bringing people together; the more people in this community grouping up the better! (Plus the sooner I get appropriate apps the sooner I can start writing with your characters!)

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Below is the canon hierarchy I plan on sticking to for this story:

 **District Job Orientations:**

District 1 – Luxury Items and Accessories

District 2 – Masonry, Weaponry, and Peacekeepers

District 3 – Technology, Electronics, and Automobiles

District 4 – Fishing and Water Filtration

District 5 – Power Generation and Storage

District 6 – Transportation and Infrastructure

District 7 – Lumber and Forestry

District 8 – Textiles and Packaging

District 9 – Grain and Medicines

District 10 – Livestock and Meat Production

District 11 – Agriculture and Orchards

District 12 – Mining of Coal and Minerals

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So I know initial chapters always suck and it's basically just _'Hey apply for my SYOT'_ but I hope I made the setting fun so far!

Who was your favorite; Maat/Veronica/Santer/Brandley?

Thoughts on chapter length/pacing?

Arena ideas?

Any miscellaneous thoughts?


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